


The Waiting

by mmmuse



Series: Moments from Poldark [4]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childbirth, F/M, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 20:29:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8174984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: As Demelza labours to give birth to their second child, Ross reflects on the past and how it continues to haunt him. Can he dare to risk his heart again? Inspired by episode 2.04 of Poldark.





	

**Author's Note:**

> You _might_ need a hanky or something... maybe.
> 
> Epilogue added after the original posting -- I'm really sorry I forgot it the first time around!

He paced. There wasn’t much else for him to do but pace, since he’d managed to get Demelza back to Nampara. Pace and listen to her muffled moans and cries from above.

The day had begun on such a high note, with excitement filling his veins when he’d left Pasco’s bank. The fat sum of six hundred pounds lined the coffers of his account for the first time in years. The sale of the shares in Wheal Leisure had caused him a moment of regret as he considered everything that had gone into resurrecting it from dereliction. This had faded as he walked into the Red Lion, eager to meet Francis to finalize their new partnership. He’d run into George Warleggan instead, confirming news that he’d have been happier never knowing.

Ross had never wanted to acknowledge the fact that the timing of Carnmore’s demise coincided with the break he and Francis had suffered following Verity’s elopement. And when his cousin had attempted to clear his conscious earlier that week, Ross had insisted he should not, that they leave the words unsaid. To have it confirmed from the person whom Ross despised more than anyone else living or dead…well, it simply could not be borne.

Ross ran his hand along his right brow, the skin and bone tender from the blow he’d received from George’s walking stick. The fight had been intense, more than he’d thought the pompous sop capable of handling. In the end, however, Ross had thrown the man the length of the bar, sending him head first into a table with a satisfying crunch. But as he’d limped away from the pub, curses and promises of banishment ringing in his ears, he was heartsick from knowing.

Could he trust Francis in this latest endeavor? He’d had the opportunity to rectify that situation mere moments after the brawl. Andrew Blamey had come upon Ross and Dwight while the doctor did what he could to tend to Ross’s injuries. An idea had formed in Ross’s head to kill two birds with one stone: lay the past behind he and his cousin and finagle a reconciliation between Blamey and his brother-in-law. What had started as an indignant standoff between Francis and Andrew had calmed to a hesitant detente based solely on the unspoken truths that passed between Ross and his cousin in the blink of an eye.

That had left the question of how George had managed to find out about the venture so quickly, before they’d even had the chance to set the wheels in motion. He’d brooded as he’d ridden home, head swimming over possible answers until he’d given up, desiring only for a quiet evening, sharing the very good news of the day with his wife.  
  
That, as they say, was _not_ to be.

He’d been furious when he discovered she’d gone back out in the boat. Damn her for taking such risks! He’d sworn and muttered under his breath the entire walk down to the cove, the aches and pains from the fight with George all but forgotten as he reached the beach grass and looked out into the sea. There she was, well over fifty feet from shore, wicked surf kicking up with the wind’s coaxing. Didn’t she know how he worried for her when she was carrying? Hadn’t she complained about his overprotectiveness when Julia was on her way?

He lost his breath for a moment. Julia, a name both blessed and cursed for the bittersweet memories he had for his girl. He’d asked Demelza if she could bear to have another child grow into their hearts, only to lose it again. Despite all of his efforts to evade it, this child she sheltered in her womb had already wheedled his way into a heart Ross had declared broken.

Seeing her now, risking everything for what? _Food for the table she should not need to get because of you_ , a guilty voice whispered. His footsteps halted, temper stretched to breaking. Until she screamed. It was a sound that ran through him like a knife from throat to balls. He ran into the surf, mindless of everything save reaching her in time. Her cries nearly caused his knees to buckle with fear as he hauled her out of the boat.,

His heart pounded in his chest. “You are the most stubborn… pigheaded—”

“—Oh, I am?” she spat, teeth bared with rage.

“Where would you be if I hadn’t come along?” Ross bellowed over the crashing of the surf, his hands gripping the side of the boat for dear life.

“Where would YOU be if I hadn’t come along?” she countered, wincing against her pains. “Drinkin and brawlin’ and dodgin’ the noose!”

He hauled the boat close. “Let’s examine my failings at a more convenient time shall we?” He reached for her waist. “Come on!”

Her hands slid around his neck and he was glad to see she came willingly. “Ah, Judas!” she moaned.

Ross strode towards the beach. “Stop wriggling!” he commanded, coming close to dropping her. Temper outstripped fear as they’d all but torn into one another on the beach, hurling insults and invectives back and forth, each of them filled with righteous fury at the other.

“You’re hateful! Ah!” she sobbed, and it nearly tore his heart out.

“You’re infuriating!” _Please God, please help me._

Tears glistened in her sea-green eyes. “I could crown you!”

A part of him wished to laugh, for there was his fiery girl, the one true love of his life. “By all means,” he conceded, all the while, his panic for her safety caused him to doubt his ability to carry her home. “Once you’ve delivered our child.”

The climb to Nampara had been difficult. He prayed the entire way, for strength, for patience, for mercy. For the protection of the woman held so tightly in his arms, her face contorted with agony, with fear. Her pains seemed to have come one after the other, stacked like so much cordwood, by the time he’d kicked in the door. Soaking wet, their teeth chattering with cold, the warmth of the hearth enveloped them like the softest of quilts.

“Demelza,” Ross rasped, eyes drawn to her hand, fine-boned but strong, work-reddened, clamped around the swell of her belly until her knuckles grew white with the strain. Prudie was there in a thrice, cooing then castigating Demelza in the same breath. “Make ready the room, Prudie. Where is Jinny?”

“We figured ‘tis best to fetch Dr Enys, Mister Ross,” Prudie said, leading the way to the room. “She left same time as you, sir.”

“Good…good,” Ross muttered as they climbed the stairs. He paused outside the chamber door, brushing Demelza’s forehead with his lips. “Dwight will be here soon, my love.”

“I want Mrs Zacky, Ross!” she wailed. Ross felt the corner of his mouth twitch as they entered the bedchamber. He laid her on the coverlet, not caring about the water and sand they brought to it, kneeling next to the bed. Then Jinny flew in, Dwight on her heels. Ross rose to his feet, clearing a path for the doctor.

“Have your waters broken, Demelza?” Dwight asked, pressing his hand to her forehead.

“I think so, I don’t know,” she wailed. The room what a whirl of activity: Dwight opening his medical kit, giving Jinny instructions for what to prepare downstairs; Prudy’s fingers scrabbling at the strings tying her mistress’s bodice. Ross stood, arms crossed around his middle as if to hold himself together, at a complete loss of what to do.

“Ross!” she cried, drawing out his name on a hiss of air squeezed from her lungs.

He was by her side in an instant, gathering her hand in his. “Yes, love?” he murmured. She gasped as another pain seized her and he paled at the force of her grip.

“Go, Ross,” Dwight ordered, his eyes kind but firm. “Leave us now.”

~*~*~*~*~

Hours passed as the murky sun sank into the horizon, leaving behind a cloudy, foreboding night sky. He’d paced around the courtyard, spent time curry combing his horse until it had grown too dark. Garrick had been at his heels, unusually silent save an occasional whine whenever Demelza’s voice had reached them through the fog.

He’d finally returned to the house, sitting in the darkened parlour with his head in his hands. The room, in its gloomy state, reminded him of when he’d first come back to Nampara. There had been barely enough money to food, let alone luxuries such as candles. It had been a cold, unwelcoming space in those days, but had been slowly brought back to life by the urchin he’d found at the Redruth fair. Pots of flowers, interesting shells, pieces of seaglass, and beeswax candles of her own making had turned this room into the home’s heart. He’d acknowledged her growth into womanhood here, watched her play the spinet, and had helped their daughter take her first steps.

He blinked tears out of his eyes, giving them a hasty swipe with his shirtsleeve. Since Julia’s death, this place had seen its fair share of argument and discord. As the trial had loomed, anxiety and regret were the order of the day. After the acquittal, his worry and shame over the state of their finances had been at the forefront of his mind. He hadn’t been able to account for Demelza’s silence and moodiness, the arguments that seemed to spring up from nowhere until the night of the harvest celebration at Trenwith.

He winced as he remembered that evening, the joy he’d found in reconciling with Francis somehow tainted by his fascination with his cousin’s wife. Seeing Elizabeth in the fields and dancing had taken him back to the days when they’d first met and had fallen in love. Life was so simple and uncomplicated then, nothing like it was now. He regretted what he’d said to Elizabeth, alone in the sitting room at Trenwith. His life _was_ what it was: complicated, strained, and uncertain, all feelings, woven together with fear, that had filled his chest when Demelza shared her news.

Hindsight being what it was, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that they were expecting a child. He and Demelza had a loving, passionate relationship, and they’d turned to one another for consolation following Julia’s passing, for comfort when the anxiety around the charges had become too much. Ross did his best to bury the grief for their daughter whenever he was around her mother, as her body began to swell with new life. How different this time had been when compared to their waiting for Julia, and how it had overshadowed each passing day. He couldn’t help but remember his amazement when he’d first felt Julia move within her mother’s womb whenever her unborn sibling did the same. Demelza would turn to him, the happiness of this new life thriving within her shimmering in her eyes, only to have it dim because of whatever momentary glimpse of bereavement she’d seen in his.

The realities of their circumstances: the thousand pound debt, the dwindling profits from the mine and the additional child to care for had driven Ross towards the reckless once again.

He’d known what Demelza would say about the tub carriers, not to mention his decision to go with them that first night. The words she’d flung at him before leaving sat squarely in the middle of their present situation. Why was it fine for him to take risks that could have him swinging from a gibbet while she could not take a boat out in calm waters to fish? While today’s seas had proven treacherous, Ross had to admit his anger was less about her abilities with the boat and more to do with his failure to provide for her.

He rose to his feet, pacing in front of the unlit hearth, damning his stubborn pride and hoping to be able to tell her how sorry he was. It was then that he noticed the quiet. Demelza’s cries had ceased.

As Ross approached the steps Dwight’s silhouette appeared on the landing. His face was unscrutable in the low light. Terror like what Ross had experienced during her illness last January swelled within him, choking off his ability to breathe let alone speak.

After what felt like years, Dwight smiled. “You have a son.”

Air flooded Ross’s oxygen-deprived brain, making him dizzy. He took a tentative step forward, clasping Dwight’s upper arms in joyful acknowledgement before taking the stairs two at a time. Jinny and Prudy were pulling the door shut as he rounded the corner of the hall, smiling and curtseying to him as he approached. “Congratulations, Cap’n Ross, sir,” Jinny said warmly.

“She is alright?” he asked, his step faltering. “And the babe?”

Prudie pushed the door wider. “Go on in an’ see fer y’self, sir.”

“Thank you, ladies,” Ross said swallowing, “I shall do just that.” They left him, voices slowly receding down the hall as he looked into the room. The echoes of another time like this, swarmed around him for a moment. _No_ , he told himself. _Let this moment be its own._

He peered in through the door, his throat tightening at the tableau before him. Demelza’s hair was a riot of autumnal curls around her shoulders. She looked tired and pale, but content as she tipped a small smile at the tiny bundle resting in her arms. She looked up at him as he entered the room, his boot heels unnaturally loud against the bare floorboards. The teary smile she gave him stilled the apology he’d had ready to give her, the warmth of forgiveness, unspoken yet offered between them.

“Ross,” she said, her voice roughened from her labours, reaching her hand towards him.

“Demelza,” he said, voice catching at the end. He crossed the room, his step slowing as he neared the side of the bed. He hesitated before sitting next to her, his insides quaking with fear as memories of the last child he’d held in this room stuttered around his mind: Julia, heavy and lifeless in his arms.

“This is our son, Jeremy,” she said, pressing the child into his father’s arms.

Ross inhaled sharply, the delicate body shifting and moving within his swaddling. Life. In his arms again. His looked down into the face to the child in his embrace. The baby’s head easily fit within Ross’s palm, the rest of his body against his forearm. He was so small…so fragile, so unlike Julia when she was born, so healthy and hale. Just then, Jeremy opened his eyes, cloudy and pale blue to meet his father’s.

Ross felt his heart thud hard against his ribs, felt the color rise in his cheeks as he fell. Fell into the unfocused eyes of his newborn son, lost in love and devotion so profound it stole his breath.

He raised a trembling forefinger to trace the line of the brow so like his own. His eyes grew blurry with unshed tears. _Can I do this again?_ he asked himself, knowing the question was moot. His heart was, once again, at great risk. He blinked, uncaring of the tears that streaked his face as he turned to look at his wife. She was weeping as well, nestling close against him, her arms reaching for their child.

He relinquished Jeremy with a reluctance he was surprised to feel. Demelza untied the ribbon of her shift and expertly slipped one arm free before drawing her full breast free of the garment. The baby rooted and found the berry red nipple, latching on to feed. Ross huffed out something that sounded like a cross between a sigh, a laugh, and a cry as he drew his fingertip along Jeremy’s cheek, which filled with his mother’s milk again and again.

Ross leaned close, tipping Demelza’s chin up to kiss her, to brush the tears from cheeks rounded with happiness and love with his thumb. “He’s beautiful,” he managed to croak. Her courage was enviable, and he hoped to emulate it as they moved into a new future, parents once again. “Thank you, my love.”

**~*~*~* Epilogue *~*~*~**

The needle in Demelza's hand stitched together the frayed fabric of Ross’s neck cloth for what must have been the hundredth time. The white lawn was old, he’d told her, and had come from his own christening gown. He had torn it, he said, the day he'd fought with George Warleggan. The day our son was born, she thought to herself. She smiled as she thought of the month that had passed since then, how Jeremy -- still smaller than his sister had been by this time -- had begun to thrive before their eyes. He was a somber, quiet babe, already so very much like his father. He had her hands and feet, but his hair, dark brown with hints of copper, was just beginning to curl at the ends. And while the eyes remained the pale blue-gray they’d been at birth, the shape of them was unmistakable.

The presence of this new creature had brought the colour back into her life after a year the likes of which she hoped never to see again. She was never surprised to see Ross looking at their son as he slept, looking at them when she'd fed him, eyes a little wary, yet yearning. His grief for Julia was so massive, there were times -- fleeting as they were -- where she could see it manifested in every line of his body. It would come when Jeremy would cry for her, whenever he would come upon them when she was tending to the baby’s needs. His shoulders would sag, or his step would falter, only for a moment, before he’d lock it back up in the safe where much of what he kept from her these days. She worried, in those moments, if he would find a place in his heart for their son.

“All finished, Ross,” she said absently, tying off the thread. She paused, realizing her son had stopped the soft coos he’d been making from his cradle, and bit the thread away from the neck cloth with her strong, white teeth.

“Can you come tie it for me, Demelza?” he asked softly behind her. She turned to find him standing near the crib, their newborn son held in the strong cradle of his arms. His face was serene, a gentle smile touching the corners of his mouth. He raised his eyes to meet hers. “My hands are full.”

**Author's Note:**

> My continuing thanks and gratitude to all of you who have enjoyed my work so far. Your thoughts here and on Tumblr and Twitter really help keep me motivated. I also need to thank Vickymaus for her mind-reading skills and how her thoughts on the fic were such a great help as I brought this to a close. Finally, my thanks to Rainpuddle 13 for her willingness to give of her time so willingly to beta these fics for me. Your counsel and friendship mean the world to me.


End file.
